


tertia (walking backwards)

by solitariusvirtus



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: In the House of Healing a strange bond is formed. It cannot last the winter, yet the bitter always mingles with the sweet. And mayhap one can be happy in spite of circumstances that would see it all ruined. Not exactly a couple, but friendship-love between Éowyn and Haldir.





	

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Octet** _: ch'i' ne son lunge ( i.e.: "she's far away", Petrarch, Sonnet 227)_

 

 

 

Éowyn lets loose an arrow, her hands steady, fingers moving as easily as if she were wielding her familiar sword. She doesn't blink, or even breathe until the arrow has hit the mark. Then she turns, ever so gently, a small smile on her face.

Haldir's look is not one of awe. _(Although to him she is a being of water and light and too much passion spend too quickly.)_ She has improved, and the rest is up to her. There is no time to teach her anything else. Not now. Not when he has to return to the woods, the leaves, the earth. They call to him with the sweet song of his race. Haldir knows that it is close.

"Well, have you no words, master Elf?" Éowyn questions. _(She is fair to look upon; as fair as any elleth to his eyes. And yet he sees the loveliness chipping away, one piece at a time. The cracks bring tears that he shall not allow himself to cry.)_

"I have come to bid you farewell, my Lady." And when her eyes widen, and her breath catches, he knows he'll miss it all. Unwavering, Haldir looks her in the eye. She's not his and never shall be.

 

 

 

 **Septet** : _Con lei foss'io da che si parte il sole (i.e.: "May I be with her when the sun departs", Petrarch, Sonnet 22)_

 

 

 

The sun's last rays play in her golden hair, and Haldir sighs for darkness has come again. And with it comes her sleep, and she leaves him alone, completely alone. _(For he needs no such thing as sleep. But Éowyn does, and it wouldn't bother him if he didn't know her to be far away then.)_

Frowning, the White Lady turns her back to the light. She's ablaze and burning now, stronger than the sun, more beautiful than the moon. But just as frail as the thin stem of grain. Tall and slender, she's almost ethereal, and it would have been so good to have her so. But she's missing just one thing. A misfortune, to be sure, a tragedy of sorts. Haldir shakes his head.

Sleep is the brother of death, the mind is idle and the body without motion. _(While now, her death is only when the moon is high in the sky, there will come a day when death will grip her tight and not let go.)_ He sees her to the door of her chambers, the ghost of a touch upon her hand.

And then he goes on to love her from afar, for she is a lovable creature, rare and true and never his, not even the tip of one strand of hair.

 

 

 

 **Sextet** : _ch'ogni cosa da voi m'è dolce honorech'ogni cosa da voi m'è dolce honore (i.e.: "everything of yours is sweet honour to me", Petrarch, Sonnet 63)_

 

 

 

"There, now," Éowyn laughs softly at the bird's chirruping. "This little one has a song for us, my friend." The leaves rustle in the breeze, carrying the sweet tones of her voice too. Haldir stands next to the bench, a short distance away from her. Her gray eyes have lost their haunted look _(not completely, but they shine a fine light in the day,)_ to the pleasure of hearing the world thrive.

Seldom has Haldir enjoyed a sight more than he does now. She looks carefree and wild and at ease. There nothing more he could ask of the Valar, nothing more that he would dare. _(Because if he could he would ask for her. But Haldir knows that he hasn't the right. She's of the earth and he of the sky. They cannot be.)_

Likely she's unaware of his pining. Éowyn is too absorbed in her own world to see his. And for this Haldir is grateful. She walks her path, eyes focused on the future, where he stays as he is. _(The past, present, future; they are all the same to him, all on one plane, and reachable all.)_ Pain tears through him and as always he ignores it.

 

 

 

 **Quintet** : _sí vedrem poi per meraviglia inseme (i.e.: "so we may see by a miracle together", Petrarch, Sonnet 34)_

 

 

 

They are children in the light of dawn. Haldir thinks that he ought to have been wiser, to know better than to lean so close to her, to not lose himself in her words and in her eyes. He ought to be wiser and not give his heart away to a songbird who'll fly away when the leaves begin to fall. It's not fair that she should fade away so quickly, but as the rivers flow and the candle burns, so does her life pass. It's sad to think that in the blink of an eye she'll be gone, her children too, the whole of Arda even.

Come noon they are fully grown, a sweet melancholy gripping both. She is visited once more by friends and family alike. Haldir keeps close by, but not too close. It is enough to see her smile and know her happy. There will be a new dawn, and there will be another time to be her closest friend. _(And likely there will be memories. Those he'll have many of. Haldir wants to trace that smile on her face with his fingertips, and feel it shine. He wants to be a child again, and hide in their world.)_

 

 

 

 **Quartet** : _Non prego già, né puote aver piú loco (i.e.: "I do not pray, since there is no purpose", Petrarch, Sonnet 65)_

 

 

 

Too late does Haldir realise his mistake. Only when his mind conjures her image in the dead of the night, and his heart thumps a little too loud, does he know what he's done. He shouldn't have, but there's no helping that now. He's bound. Éowyn sleeps beds away unaware of the world around. _(For a brief moment he thinks to go around and look upon her since the deed is done. What grief could one more glance bring?)_

Pale light comes from the moon outside. Haldir sees it shine on her face. He sighs.

Turning around, he tries in vain to calm his mind. He reminds himself that this will pass, or so he tries to fools himself into thinking. It doesn't work, though he's rarely been unable to convince himself of something. _(That might well be because his thoughts had been in tune with the facts, with the revolving of the world.)_ He does not turn around. Like this he might actually have a chance at denial. If he sees her face, his heart will act up once more. And he cannot afford to have it so.

Haldir would pray to the Valar, but it is too late now.

 

 

 

 **Trio** : _il suon de' primi dolci accenti suoi (i.e.: "the sound of its first sweet accents begin", Petrarch, Sonnet 5)_

 

 

 

"Do you ever sleep?" Éowyn asks, curiosity shining in her eyes.

"Rarely," Haldir answers. Men and Elves are entirely different. For even when they dream those of his race are aware. They are conscious of everything around them. _(Why even with his eyes closed he can hear her breathe and also he can hear the sound of her beating heart, reassuring him that she's healing. He can hear her flesh kneading itself back together.)_

"Ah, do you not dream then?" There is some surprise in her face. Then she looks almost disappointed.

"Not in the way you do. Our dreams are not phantasms. We can see what was, what is, what will be. No, I suppose we do not dream." Haldir watches her absorb his words. _(For Éowyn, he supposes, that dreams were an escape. She could fly out of her cage in the dead of the night, and stretch her wings, and let herself fly.)_ "But you, do you often dream?"

"Sometimes." And her lips become a thin line. "Sometimes I dream of flying." And other times she burns, but those words don't leave her lips. There are shadows in her eyes at times. She looks out the window, lost and alone and too fragile. In those moments she becomes something she isn't and the sweetness is washed away.

 

 

 

 **Duet** : _Miserere del mio non degno affanno (i.e.: "Have pity on my unworthy suffering", Petrarch, Sonnet 62)_

 

 

 

On those first few days she is a statue of stone. Haldir wonders how something so beautiful can be so cold. Have the Valar given her the heart of a stone? She freezes with a mere stare, eyes of ice. She does not even speak, the White Lady of Rohan, with her grim expression and weary sighs. And even so, there is something there, a sort of loneliness that the naked eye can hardly see. If it is self-imposed or a result of some great evil done to her, Haldir doesn't know. _(Nor would he want to given the chance.)_

 _(If he could he would reach out to her. But she's so far away, locked in her ivory tower where none can reach her. It's a pity, truly.)_ Aragorn comes to see her sometimes and she lets him talk, never saying anything back. On the rare moments when her brother arrives in the door, she looks up, still cold. The man takes her hand and she fails to respond. And the loneliness is still there, close enough to the surface so that he may see it. But somehow Éomer misses it, and leaves. _(Stanger things have happened, Haldir is sure. He takes a deep breath and speaks to her.)_

 

 

 

 **Solo** : _Solo ov'io era tra boschetti et colli (i.e.: "Alone though I was among the woods and hills", Petrarch, Sonnet 67)_

 

 

 

Death is all around him. It claims brothers and enemies like, and Haldir thinks that this is greatness. To die the death of a warrior, protecting the realm, these deaths they will sing about for many years. Long after the Elves have set sail and the Men will have been left alone, these songs will ring through halls.

His sword slashes through another opponent. The hears the hiss of blood spraying out of the would but doesn't flinch. He is not killing an innocent creature. These are monstrous beings, lacking anything pure. How could he feel for them anything but disgust and pity?

Later, it is him on the ground, blood flowing out of his wounds. They carry him to the House of Healing almost drained of all life, and in his state, caught between this world and the other, he can hear death coming, closer and closer and closer still. It chills the blood in his veins. Haldir is not afraid of death.

The crossing shouldn't be a painful one. He can accept his deafeat, yet somehow he still feels himself pulling back, trying to escape. Just another day, hour, minute. For what? He doesn't know. But he pulls back nonetheless, and prays to stay.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
